


Strings: a Prologue

by StAnni



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 05:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17995901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StAnni/pseuds/StAnni
Summary: She knows that it wouldn’t work because she has thought about them from every angle imaginable.  She has seen the wood for the trees where Bruce has followed his blind devotion further and further down the rabbit hole.





	Strings: a Prologue

His grip on the small of her back, her neck, is warm and firm, his fingers strong and digging into her skin. She pushes back against him – her hands against his chest and she can feel his heart beat, fast, under her palm. They have start-stopped so many times, they have crashed into each other and shattered apart like shrapnel with every kiss ending in devastation. And yet they always end up at the same place again. He doesn’t move first and relaxing into his grip she leans forward, opening her mouth to his and then allows him to take over with an intensity that would be frightening if she didn’t know him so very well.  
When they pull apart her heard is swimming and his eyes, still so dark, is fixed on her mouth as she speaks “Bruce, this doesn’t change anything.”

They say that in every relationship one person will always care more than the other, love more than the other. With them that has always been true – Bruce has always loved her more, to his detriment, to their detriment, heedlessly and recklessly. But she has always cared more for him, careful for him, always tempering his devotion by keeping herself at arms-length. “This doesn’t change anything.” She says again, drawing his eyes up to hers, trying to make him hear her. “Tomorrow I’ll be gone.” She says.

He doesn’t answer but kisses her breath away – both hands sliding up to cup the back of her head and she can feel him, hard, against her. He is not listening because he doesn’t want to hear. And if Bruce doesn’t want to hear he will drown out the world if needs be. That she knows.

There is a restraint to him as he pushes her back against the wall – he is holding back, but only just. She can feel it in the scrape of his teeth against her lips and the way that he pulls her hair, just enough to hurt. He wants her to stay, she knows. And she knows that he will never, ever ask her, that he wants her to stay of her own accord. And it is the ferocity of his pride, his frustration, that comes out now as he pushes against her, crowding her against the rough brick of the living room wall.

She reaches between them, pushing her wrist behind his belt, into his jeans, to break his might and the moment she closes her hand around the warm heat of his erection he gasps into her mouth – his hips moving into hers, a sharp tug of both of his clenched fists in her hair.

He pulls her down to the floor with him when she winces at the scrape of brick behind her. It becomes very real very fast when he unbuckles his belt – eyes intently on hers. “Bruce, don’t do this if you are going to regret it.” She says, desperately hoping that he is not going to stop.  
And he doesn’t. 

He is as strong as he is intense and when he pushes into her for the first time they are on the floor of her apartment – their clothes not lying two feet from them and Bruce puts his forehead to hers as he breathes, eyes closed.  
They are very far from each other’s firsts but in that moment, the first time having allowed it to come this far – she feels herself clutching at him – this time her fingers dig in and as he opens his eyes and start to move her heart begins to ache as if she has never been this exposed before. And the truth is that she hasn’t.

It is desperate and just a bit rough as he pushes her to the brink and over. When she arcs against him, holding his strong shoulders as she comes with him inside of her, he pins her down – and lets go, shaking apart in powerful thrusts that makes the feet of the kitchen table thud softly on the wooden floor.

When it is over she can feel his shuddering breath against the naked skin of her neck and she looks at him as he lies breathing - eyes still closed, chest moving slowly up and down. He is big and resilient and ever a tense tangle of love and hostility when it comes to her. Finally, when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t look at her, but at the ceiling.

“I can’t let you go.” He says, and it is not angry or threatening – it is simply stating a fact – as if he is only now realizing the true finality of it – and there is a quiet tremor of hopelessness that breaks Selina’s heart.

“If I could stay, Bruce…” She starts, careful of his state “…it wouldn’t ever work.” 

She knows that it wouldn’t work because she has thought about them from every angle imaginable. She has seen the wood for the trees where Bruce has followed his blind devotion further and further down the rabbit hole. It will never work. They will never see eye to eye. They will never be safe together. They will never have children. They will never be a family. Bruce will never have what he deserves with her in his life.

He doesn’t say anything and she knows the silence – the quiet, angry silence that closes Bruce off against the world – even her. He sits up and she sighs, because it is futile, they are futile. When he is dressed she is in her underwear leaning against the kitchen table – watching him avoid her eyes, watching him shutter himself further and further back. “Goodnight Selina.” He says as he heads to the door, closing it behind him without looking at her.


End file.
